Unwanted, Unloved
by ThatChildIsBacon
Summary: Jack came back after TYTNW, but was received rather differently. Most probably OOC. Spoilers for Kiss Kiss Bang Bang I suppose  like y'all haven't watched it!
1. Chapter 1

**Not sure where this came from, it just happened to me when I was lying in bed this morning, 'cause we all know there's nothing better to wake up to than a little angst ;P  
>Not sure whether to carry it on, y'know what happens next, does he get accepted again, rejected or does he simply run away to a place where he can try to forget even his own name (NOT a bar!) It is as yet undecided. <strong>

Jack and Ianto. That should be made a universal constant, no, it _was_ a universal constant. Wherever, whenever they were, they would find each other. Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones. Always.

Those were the thoughts racing through Jack's head as soon as he was able to stop and take a good look at things. He was home, Ianto was alive, and life- just this once- was fucking amazing.  
>Of course that all went to shit. The minute he opened his big mouth, the minute he overcame his biggest fear and voiced one thought that kept him sane throughout that year, his life turned to shit.<p>

"Maybe we could, y'know when this is all over; dinner, a movie…?" And by god was he nervous, his mind tried to rationalise it, all he was doing was asking that man he'd slept with for quite a while now to go out with him, surely he shouldn't be feeling this anxious.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"Interested?" he smirked, trying hard to maintain some semblance of nonchalance when facing the situation that'd kept him sane for the better part of that year.

"Honestly Jack? I think I'm probably busy"

And just like that he felt as if someone had poured buckets of ice cold water on him…again. "But I haven't even said when…" he tried, struggling to keep his voice even as his dreams, his perceived _future,_ crashed down around him.

"No, Jack, you haven't. But fundamentally I think the answer would be the same, don't you" his question was rhetorical. He didn't even turn to witness the emotions playing over the immortals face, to see the heartbreak in his eyes.

"Why?" he whispered, a step away from tears, his weakened physical state playing havoc with his emotions, really he hadn't spend long enough 'healing', but all he'd wanted to do was get home to him. To Ianto. The man who was breaking his heart.

"Because really Jack, I'm not _that_ desperate. You left. End of. Now; I'll take this floor, don't want you gettin' overexcited, you take the roof. You're good on roofs" he smiled. He _fucking_ smiled, and Jack felt something inside him break further.

"You don't get to say that to me, not anymore" he whimpered, failing to hide the tell-tale tremor in his voice, before he walked out, leaving the only good thing in his indefinably long life behind.

And then there was the business with John. Suffice to say his head wasn't in the right place during their snarking match, infact his head was arguably in the wrong fucking quarter of the known galaxies. But the short moment of what was almost peace he felt on his fall was what scared him the most, the thought that he'd found himself in so deep that dying was the only place he could be at ease. It was terrifying.

He woke up in almost indescribably unfathomable pain, bent almost in half over a bench. As had become the norm, he'd revived before his body had had time to fully repair himself. He had the Master to thank for that. Killing him over and over without any time for his body to repair, running his little experiments and games, he'd had to adjust, revive as soon as the worst was healed 'cause he'd be dead in a few minutes anyway. Really he was beginning to see the benefits of spending more time healing in the TARDIS, maybe if he had he'd be back to his version of normal. But that's your life all over Jack Harkness, a snarky inner-voice taunted him, a day late and a dollar short.  
>So he'd dutifully dragged himself halfway across Cardiff, finding John, saving Gwen, hell saving the day. And he'd done it without complain, not giving a second though to the pain every movement caused. It was his penance for leaving, for letting them down. He'd tried to make amends, booked them the best rooms in the best hotel he could find, gave them the next day off, everything he could think of. And yet they still left him alone.<p>

By the time they reached the hotel Jack was beyond pain. He was pretty sure his nervous system was systematically shutting down- something else he'd learned to do in the Valiant- numbing his body until the time of his ultimate demise. If the team noticed, none of them tried to help. And he was fairly certain they would've noticed, he could barely walk, leaning heavily on whatever stable structure he passed in a bid to take the edge off. He reached the lobby in time to see the lift shut on the people he once called his team, leaving him to fend for himself. No more than he deserved.  
>He collected his room key, barely managing to stay upright in the lift, let alone the seemingly endless stretch of corridor. He'd secured them all rooms on the same floor, so he knew they were safe and there if they needed him, hell if he needed them. But as his feet slipped out from under him, and he hit the floor with a dull thud and a suppressed groan, he thought back to his failed conversation with Ianto and the hostility they'd shown him and he <em>knew<em> he couldn't ask them. No matter how close they were, no matter that by just shouting he could have them out here in minutes, he couldn't rely on them. The though send a sickening kick to his stomach, joining with the rolling his attempts to stand cause. Giving up any pretence of dignity, he crawled slowly and haltingly to his door. Jack Harkness, defender of the earth, lover, fighter, heartbreaker, con man, agent, interrogator, prisoner, complete fucking arsehole, whatever he was viewed as, crawled as defencelessly as a child, weary and broken. He managed to pull himself up enough to open his door, only to collapse once inside, using the last of his strength to kick shut the door and pull himself far enough into the room that he vaguely entertained the idea of reaching the bathroom. It was to no avail. Barely able to push himself onto hands-and-knees, he promptly threw up, the pitiful amount of food in his stomach mixing with a hefty amount of blood, whimpering at the pain as tears he'd managed to fight off for the better part of two days streamed down his face. As the final rolling subsided along with a painful retch, he collapsed, too weak to try to drag himself away from the mess.

Captain Jack Harkness spent his first night of freedom, back in a place he once considered home, shivering and crying softly, laying in a pile of his own vomit, whimpering in pain. He was cold, lost alone and so, so broken. Worst of all, he began to wish he was back on board the Valiant, back in a place where he knew the people he loved were close by. Back in a time where he wasn't forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok guys, I've bowed to your needs =) Thank you so very much for the love, it's much appreciated! Also, sorry for the wait, severe writers block + reading TW EU books = slow updates ;P I know it's not much any not **_**nearly **_**resolved, but it needed to be done…**

Of course the night held its own terrors. He rarely lasted a night without nightmares _before_ he left; over a hundred and fifty years of memories of the things he'd done and had done to him in return. Now, after all he'd been through, the twisted, spiralling mêlée of images assaulted him almost the second his eyes, too exhausted to stay focused, slid shut. The techniques that'd come naturally to him, the things that left his gut in an almost permanent knot of guilt, mixing with things the Master had done. The faces of the people he'd interrogated, his victims, morphing into his own. He could almost feign to smell the blood and sweat mixing with the steam and toxins, hear _his_ twisted ravings, the screams as cities were destroyed, places, _people_ burned and sliced and mutilated.  
>And they wouldn't let him go. Almost as if he <em>were<em> still chained, they held him under, not allowing him to surface until they let him. It was reminiscent of something the Master tried at one point, drowned him in sulphuric acid just to see what happened. Just for fun. It _hurt_.

_Cold. The cold bit deep into his wrists. He couldn't move. Fire. Fire in his shoulders and ice in his wrists. Manacles. Oh god the manacles. Metal biting into his skin, opening the barely healed scars. He was a prisoner. He has back on the Valiant. Fire and Ice and _Pain!

He woke with a barely suppressed scream in his throat, clawing at his wrists whether to remove the physical objects or the memory of the manacles he didn't really know. He did know that once the offending items, his watch and 'wrist strap', were thrown, albeit weakly, away from him, some of the panic did start to subside.  
>Of course that wasn't such a good thing. He wanted to sleep again. Maybe this time he could avoid the nightmares. They say you wake up before the point of death in a nightmare because your body doesn't know what it feels like to die, so what would happen to him if he died whilst held under by the terrors? Would he die? Would he finally be free? The thought and images twisted inside his head until he fell back to the tempting melody of sleep.<p>

The next time he woke he couldn't stop the scream.

* * *

><p>The day dawned with a fresh wave of guilt for Ianto Jones. He knew he'd done the right thing rejecting Jack, at least he thought he knew. Didn't he?<p>

_Yes_ one part of him screamed, _Jack fucking left and now he just waltzes back in and expects everything to be alright? Fuck him.  
><em>But another part, smaller, more insecure, whispered to him; _But you didn't see, when you said no, you didn't see the look in his face, you don't know what he was thinking! And what about after Hart said he'd killed him, didn't he seem different to you?  
>"<em>Shut up you damned schizophrenic" he mocked himself, rolling out of bed. He really didn't need this; he had nothing to be guilty for. Jack had left. Without a word he had just come back from a ridiculously long death, kissed him infront of the team and then buggered off. He just waltzes around like he owns the goddamned _planet_ and no one, _no one_ stops him! Well bugger that for a bag of bananas! He wasn't going to put up with that kind of shit anymore, no fucking way!

He'd just got out of the shower when he heard the scream. It chilled him right to the core, that someone could make a noise that terrified, that helpless, and moreover he knew that person was Jack. Stupid Jack bloody Harkness.  
>He dressed quickly, and was out of his room and banging on Jack's door before his mind could even register why he was helping him. All he knew was that, feelings aside, Jack was alone and seemingly terrified in there, and he was the only person unfortunate enough to qualify as help.<br>"Jack?" he called.  
>He got a somewhat pitiful whimper in reply. Not a good sign.<br>Not that he cared.  
>He tried the handle, holding out no hope of it opening, as with all hotel rooms there was an automatic lock. Sufficed to say he has both surprised and disheartened that it opened. Of course the sight that met him was the real winner.<br>Jack was in the foetal position seemingly curled as far in on himself as he could manage, both crying softly and whimpering periodically, lying it what looked suspiciously like a nauseating mix of blood and vomit. The sight damn near broke his heart.  
>"Jack?"<br>A soft moan.  
>He padded over slowly, hesitantly. This wasn't good. Jack's eyes were open, but he wasn't <em>seeing<em>. His mind was somewhere else, somewhere potentially dangerous.  
>Feeling completely out of his depth and seeing no other option, Ianto backed out into the corridor and called for Owen. He got no answer of course, it was probably too early for him. Sighing in frustration he stalked over to his side of the corridor and pounded on his door.<p>

"Owen! Get the hell out here!" he yelled.

A few minutes later the door swung open to reveal a very disgruntled looking Owen Harper.

"Its god knows what time in the morning, what the fuck do you want!" he growled, obviously having been asleep.

"Its Jack- no don't give me that look, he's… there's something wrong, come see" he turned and hurried back to Jack's room, not even checking to see if the doctor was following. The muttered curse from behind him as he entered told him all he needed to know.  
>Owen barged past him the second he saw the state Jack was in, bending down to assess the situation. What he wasn't expecting, as he placed a placating hand on the immortals back, was the ear-piercing scream he gave, jerking away violently. He looked like an abused child.<br>He looked terrified.

* * *

><p>Everything was hazy for a while. He wasn't quite asleep, that he knew. If he was asleep he wouldn't hurt. But, he could've sworn he heard Ianto, but that was what <em>he<em> did wasn't it. At least he knew what was coming then, at least he kept some sort of fucked up routine. It was vaguely reassuring in a way, it meant he was constantly alone, constantly in pain, never knowing what would happen next but always knowing it was going to be painful. If he expected the pain then there was nothing to worry about. Right?

_And then there was pain. Sharp, inscrutable, nauseating pain. Like old bruises being kicked. It hurt. It hurt so much he thought he'd probably be sick.  
>He was.<em>

Jack crawled crab-style as far away from the source of the pain as possible, before he rolled over and promptly threw up another mix of blood and vomit. Nasty. He felt empty, like there was nothing left inside. It was horrible. He couldn't tell what was what anymore. He though he was awake, it felt like he was awake and moving, but Ianto was there? That couldn't be right, Ianto hated him. Like the rest. No one wanted Jack Harkness anymore. _He_ didn't want Jack Harness anymore. He was wrong, a freak, something to left alone, abandoned, experimented on. He was nothing.  
>He really wished he could die.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Seriously boys and girls, I am so unbelievably sorry it's taken me this long! I don't blame you if you hate me right now, I hate me right now! So I know this chapter isn't going to live up to expectations, after this long I'd be expecting a bloody masterpiece, but all I have to give you is my angsty ramblings. I promise I will try so hard to get you some kind of Christmas oneshot to make up, seriously give me ideas and I shall do that for y'all =) (also, if it's angst you want, I do some pretty hot Christmas angst I can adapt from an one OC NON-fic story I was writing)**

**Anyway, I'm just gonna fuck off and leave you now hope this is ok. It's by no means the end of the saga, but it's the beginning of it. **

Jack was shivering violently, that much was abundantly clear. Tremors wracked his cowering form with almost brutal force, tearing whimpers from him.  
>Ianto approached him slowly, cautiously, ignoring whatever look Owen was probably throwing his way. Jack needed him, whether he liked it or not Jack fucking <em>needed<em> him. He knelt down next to him, making sure to avoid the wet patch staining the carpet, and began talking, low and soothing, like he would a frightened child. And right now Jack was little more than that.

"Shhhhhhhh Jack its ok, we're here, we're going to help, you're safe now"

"Nonononononononono" Jack was moaning over and over again

"Hey calm down, you're going to be ok now" he soothed, stroking a hand through Jack's hair.

He flinched, pulling away from the touch.

"Jack, it's ok, it's just me, Ianto, I'm not going to hurt you"

"Ianto hates me, everyone hates me, I'm wrong"

"No Jack, you're not wrong, you're different yes, but not wrong, never wrong"

"'It's not easy, even just…just looking at you Jack, 'cause you're wrong'" he mumbled.

It was with a sick realisation that it dawned on Ianto that he was quoting, they weren't his words. Worse still, he was pretty sure he knew who's they were; The Doctor's. For all his supposed wisdom and benevolence and he'd called…  
>An irrational anger at the alien flared up inside him, fuelled by the fact he wasn't even supposed to feel it. He wasn't supposed to care. Jack had left. End of. And yet hearing, seeing him as he was now, how could he really hold it against him. It was akin to holding a grudge against David or Mica for going away, because really he only had that much hold on Jack. He could come and go as he pleased and Ianto had nothing, no incentive to make him stay.<p>

"I want to go home now. I want to go home, I want Cardiff, I want… I want to go home" Jack whimpered

"You are home, nearly, you can go back to the HUB just as soon as you're all patched up ok" he turned to the abandoned medic "Owen?"

As Owen moved closer, Ianto shifted forward, carefully pulling Jack up so he would be able to reach the affected area. Slowly, he slid Jacks coat off, noting the slight wince, which became more pronounced when he slid the shirt off, eliciting another tremulous whimper. He frowned at the t-shirt- hanging too loose on Jack's once strong frame- and shook his head. The medic understood immediately, and worked to cut away at the shirt revealing-

"Shit"

The whole of his back was a blue/black mass, emanating from a horizontal patch bisecting the skin with an angry blue/black, interspersed with red. It looked incredibly painful, and Ianto was immediately struck with the thought of how brave Jack was compared to him, to all of them. He had battled through the pain and ended up saving the day, even when he must've been in unbearable pain. He wanted to cry for how weak they were.

* * *

><p>It hurt. A lot. It hurt so much he wasn't sure this wasn't some new kind of torture. Build him up just to knock him back down. He wanted them to go away then, go away and leave him alone! He didn't want this. He wanted to sleep. He wanted the nightmares to go away. He wanted to truly be free. Not that that was likely to happen, the Valiant was going to cling to him for the rest of his eternal life, he <em>knew<em> that, but it didn't stop him from hoping. Hoping one day the scars would fade.

* * *

><p>"Look mate, it's pretty much just some fucking severe bruising, not much more I can do" Owens grumbles broke Ianto from his quiet reverie, watching the troubled frown on Jack's face sadly "I'll be sleeping till a more reasonable hour, if you need me, don't bother" he grumbled good naturedly, as he got up ready to leave.<p>

"Okay Owen, thank you"

"Yeah well, whatever doesn't mean I forgive him, you shouldn't either" he gave Ianto a strangely piercing look, before turning and exiting. Ianto really hadn't noticed the vaguely compromising position they were in before Owen left. Jack had seemingly curled himself into his chest, hands balled in his shirt, a warped image of the way he used to rest his hands on his waist, and his head buried in his shoulder, sobbing softly. Ianto himself wasn't innocent, one hand rested on a less bruised patch on his hip and the other tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck, scratching softly. The gesture was as absentminded as it was to offer comfort, to calm him. God what had he gotten himself into. Jack was broken, that much was made abundantly clear. He was broken and Ianto couldn't fix him. Wouldn't fix him. _He_ had left _them_ not the other way round. He was responsible for what he got up to; it was his stupid psychotic ex after all. It was his fault.  
>Wasn't it?<br>Somehow that didn't sit right. That didn't sit right at all.  
>He didn't know how long he sat with Jack, murmuring softly, stroking his hair, trying to comfort him. Eventually he felt the wracking sobs start to slow and Jack shift position, looking across at him with a watery smile. He berated himself immediately afterwards, but he couldn't help but think the smile was breathtakingly beautiful. Nothing like his trademark grin, this was more subtle, softer and somewhat insecure. It was so apart from his usual uncaring bravado and, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he felt privileged to be privy to such private emotions. That in itself was a strange thing to think about his <em>lover<em> but even then he's been somewhat withdrawn, they both have, never really trusting anybody to be near enough to their hearts to see the real emotions. Never really trusting anybody not to hurt them. _That_ was why this one smile, just a slight upturn in the corners of his mouth, sent him reeling.

* * *

><p>The smile felt wrong on his face, but it seemed to make Ianto happy. His eyes shone as he looked at him, and maybe it did make the smile fit better. Those eyes though. He had seen them shine with so many emotions, so much passion. But no, that couldn't be right; it must've been another trick. Ianto was dead. Ianto hated him. Ianto smiled at him. That confused him. Ianto was being nice. But…Ianto hated him. He as good as said so. 'I'm not that desperate' <em>I hate you Jack ok? Why would I want to date something like you, that's just disgusting!<em> 'Not wrong, never wrong'

Again his mind conjured up the Valiant. He knew what was what there. Everyone hated him. Everyone wanted to kill him. Did kill him. That was ok. He deserved it. He had made them look at his wrongness; he deserved to be punished… But here? Here was supposed to be different. Here they hadn't mentioned how disgusting he was. They were ok with it. But now they _had_ realised.  
>And yet.<br>Ianto had smiled at him.


End file.
